Missing You
by Satan'sTrident
Summary: After her torture in the Capitol, Effie Trinket has worked hard to create a new life for herself, leaving no trace of who she used to be before. But when a familiar face pushes himself back into her life, can she keep everything together, or is her life about to fall apart all over again?
1. Chapter 1

The metal door clangs shut, and the entire room is plunged into darkness. I am left chained to the wall, my naked back pressed into the icy cold concrete behind me. I gotta give it to my captors for not just building prison cells like this, but for pouring pure hatred into the design. The concrete box I'm sat in is more like a coffin with headroom and the only light for me to take in my surroundings seeps in from the crack under the door that just trapped me in here. The only sound, other than the heavy tread of retreating boots and my own painfully loud breathing is the audio they pipe in through a speaker on my right from the other torture rooms, of which there are many.

I've been in here so long I can't even tell whether it's day or night, or whether I've been in here for days, or for weeks. All I know is that there is not way out, and that if I'm destined to die in this hell hole, then it is bound to be slow and agonisingly painful as my tormentors try and force information from me that I do not possess.

My breathing is still heavy, so I focus on slowing that down so I can at least try and calm myself down. The only pro of round the clock torture is that you can't get more extreme than that, and soon, they must reach a point when they can't get any worse. Where it can't get any painful than the last round.

Feedback suddenly echoes from the speaker above my head and I moan at the throbbing it creates in my battered skull.

"Someone help me!" The voice that sounds makes me flinch, and a whine escapes my throat. Portia.

Oh, please no.

"Shut up. I'll give you one last chance to talk, or you and your boyfriend die." I harsh male voice silences Portia's pleas and sends a chill down my own spine.

"Kill us then. We don't-" Cinna's voice is calm, but condescending before the gunshot sounds that silences him and causes a pained wail from Portia's own mouth. I screw my own eyes tight shut and all I want to do is help her, seeing as I've already failed to help him. "Portia!" I scream, throwing myself towards the door and feeling the chains dig in tighter still around my wrists. But that won't stop me; I continue to cry and scream until my whole body is shaking with emotion, and pure hatred and fear is pumping through my veins. "Portia!" I try again, my voice louder and more close to a growl as I ignore the fact that my voice feels like it's about to give out, and that it's physically impossible to get through a six inch steel door and the unbearable weight of the chains around me.

"Effie? Oh, my God, you're in here? Where are you?" Portia's voice breaks, and she sobs softly.

"It's okay, I'm okay! I'm gonna get you out, I'm just down the corridor!" I shriek as loud as I can, but she must know that I'm as much as a prisoner here as she is. Only Portia has a way out that I fear they won't be willing to give me just yet.

"Baby girl, just please, be careful. They'll come for you, I promise. I love you." Her own voice breaks and my hearing is just good enough to hear the click of the gun cocking. My breath catches, and I cry out, wishing I could put my hands over my ears and block out the sound that I know will torture me for months after this. That is, if I ever get out of here.

A single shot rings out and an animalistic sound erupts from my throat. I feel like it's me that's been shot, but even above the grief that is blocking out almost everything else I can hear the dull thump of my best friend's lifeless body dropping to the ground.

I whine and the speaker cuts off, leaving me to cry in as much privacy I can get in this place.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry.." I groan, my voice distorted and unfamiliar even to my own ears as all the pain I've been feeling ever since I was kidnapped leaks down my face and falls onto the scars and wounds on my thighs.

My lips tremble and the tears remain unchecked as they mingle with the dirt and blood. It's now that it occurs to me that I won't see light again, that I won't be able to laugh or even smile after the atrocities I've witnessed in this prison. I placed my trust in Haymitch's hands and for a while I was safe in the knowledge that he would come, but that was silly. Childish, even. This isn't a fucking fairytale. And the idea of him being my prince is absurd, if mildly amusing.

I don't need a prince to come for me, I have to be my own hero. I see that now.

So by the time the morning shift starts ten minutes later and I've given myself time to grieve, I'm formulating a plan of my own. And the screams and cries around me act only to spur my lust for freedom on more.


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N:_** **** _Hey guys, thanks for all the support with this so far!I'm gonna try and post a new chapter here every Tuesday (hopefully). Please let me know what you think by leaving a review. Until next week :) xo_

 **Effie's POV**

 _I am running. The night air is heavy and damp, but there are still the harsh sounds of the city around me as I navigate haphazardly and as quickly as my battered body will allow, away from the prison that had housed me for a month or more. Each thud of my bare feet hitting the concrete sends a wave of sensation up my body and I take time to realise just how damn good it feels to be able to run again._

 _My lungs burn, my heart pounds, and every muscle is protesting, but I carry on. All I want to do is collapse on the ground and pass out, but I have to keep moving. I feel half dead inside but looking back, I've never felt so alive._

My eyes snap open with a gasp and before I am aware of what I'm doing, I've struggled to my feet and I am stood by my bed, the sheet that's currently tangled around my body sagging a little as it starts to slide off me. I blink, but I soon wish I hadn't have bothered, as the weak sunlight filtering in through the crack in the curtains beside me assaults my presumably bloodshot eyes. I moan, forcing my eyelids shut as I collapse back onto the bed, sighing at the comfort of the warmth around me.

The relief is short lived, though. A lurch in my stomach coupled with a wave of nausea have me running to my dingy bathroom where I vomit up the remaining spirits and what little food I'd had yesterday.

 _Fuck, my head hurts.._

I moan again, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep, but I know I can't sleep it off as I'm already craving a drink and the only sure way to cure myself of hangovers is to shove more booze into my already majorly fucked up body.

And no, I don't mean my body screwed itself, or that I'm ill. It's what a month's worth of around the clock torture did to my body that led it to be this way. Led _me_ to be this way. The few hours I don't spend boozing are spent reliving my time suffering the wrath of the Capitol's finest in my nightmares. So either way, I can't really say I've got much sanity left.

You know that saying.. The one that a bunch of teens thinking they're hardcore tend to say, while drinking a few beers they got with a fake ID? 'I drink to forget.' Well, that's me now. It's a bit ironic actually, seeing as twenty years ago, I _was_ that girl, sitting in the bar with her booze and fake ID. Only difference now is, I actually have a reason to waste every penny I earn from wasting my Saturdays slaving away at a local shop on drink. It drowns my thoughts, my memories. Everything. And after a few years, it takes your life.

Which I have precisely zero problems with, seeing as I have zero reasons to live.

I sigh and splash some water on my face. Glancing up at the mirror, I roll my eyes and murmur "Come now, Effie, this is no way to be thinking. You have to go down to Dean now."

That thought cheers me up a little. Dean's essentially my lifeline; he steals me cheap booze that gets me drunk quickly, in exchange for half of my weekly wage. I don't like giving him so much, but I haven't got a choice. I have no desire for rehab, which is what any doctor or nurse would tell me, and even if I did I can't afford it. And I am certainly not going cold turkey.

So slowly but surely, I work my way through my morning routine, with a few side notes about maybe considering cleaning all the empty and broken booze bottles out of the apartment. Maybe emptying the bin and cleaning the kitchen. I say it, but I'll probably end up procrastinating any and all housework until I'm either bored or so deep in withdrawal that I feel the need to distract myself.

In twenty minutes, I'm dressed and clean, or as clean as I can be from splashing water onto my pallid skin and hoping it makes me look less like the living dead. I've next to no food in, so I have to make do with idly chewing at a slice of bread I presumably stole last night. It's not bad stuff actually and now that my hunger's satisfied, my main priority is booze.

Desperate to relieve the pressure in my head, I leave my own apartment in favour of trekking down to Dean's place two floors below me, my backpack slung over one shoulder.

He answers on the second knock, a pair of loose tracksuit trousers on his lower half while a towel drapes over both his broad shoulders. I suppose he could be handsome, if things had turned out differently. Soft brown eyes settle on my blue ones, but there is nothing soft about this man. He's as much as a criminal as I am, on the run from the Peacekeepers for petty theft and drug use.

"Euphemia." He smirks at me as he brushes a few strands of wet brown hear out of his pale face.

I wrinkle my nose at him, which at least earns me a smile as he gestures for me to come in. Of all the people I've had the misfortune to meet in this hell hole, Dean is the most tolerable. Plus, he covers his tracks well, and he's good at smooth talking his way out of bad situations. So he seemed like the best option when I first started on the drink and turned up at this sorry looking block of flats in the centre of the city. He looked out for me while I learned to stand on my own two feet, which proved decidedly hard after so long in the very best of Capitol luxury. I buy booze from him, he sometimes gets a kiss if he's lucky. But that's as far as our relationship goes, and he's not exactly the loving kind. Which I'm fine with.

But I'm wary, still. I mean, who wouldn't be after.. That. You know what I mean. And if Haymitch leaving me in the Capitol has taught me anything, it's to trust no one.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N:Next chapter to this story and I'm honestly not sure how I feel about Haymitch hurting for leaving Effie behind.. Still, things will pick up a little in later chapters. Until next week :) xx_

 _Haymitch's POV_

 _Where are you? I murmur to myself, my warm breath misting the window I'm facing as the car rushes past the figures and shapes hooded by the black of the night. I know exactly where I'm going, and the path should be familiar by now, but I can't help the flicker of anxiety that rises in my chest. Truth be told, I never wanted to come back, but it was only the promise of seeing her safe and well that enticed me to take this journey once more._

 _I tell myself not to be optimistic; to be prepared to see her in a bad way. I'd had a hunch that she'd be different, especially after what they did to her, but there's no way I can picture her like that. I'll always see her as the bright, bubbly Escort, with her schedules and constant drills about etiquette and propriety._

 _I was told she escaped from where she was being held, and has remained off the radar ever since. But that means nothing to me. All I can think about is finding her, and bringing her back to me. I'm placing my trust in that she had the wits to make it this far. She has to be alive somewhere..._

 _I've already failed her once. I cannot fail her again._

"Haymitch, are you even listening to what I'm saying?" Plutarch Heavensbee's voice next to me is frustrated, sort of like he's been saying the same thing over and over and is very sick of it. Maybe he has been repeating himself. Maybe he has, maybe he hasn't. I don't care. As far as Effie's concerned, the man sat next to me is irrelevant.

He sighs. "I was _saying_ that you need to be careful. Oh, and no surprises. You're just checking up on her. Nothing else." The look on the older man's face is stern, and for a minute, I'm made to feel like a kid again.

I scowl, not liking that in the slightest. "Yeah, whatever," my voice growls at him, before I turn myself back to staring out of the misty window and watching the gloomy night beyond.

"Haymitch." Plutarch's voice is a little softer this time, as if he's trying to empathise with my situation.

That grates on my nerves more than the man merely existing. How the hell I'd survived with that twat in Coin's meetings, I will honestly never know.

"What?" I snap, turning back at him.

He studies me for a second before speaking again. "Look, I know you're worried about seeing her again, but-"

"No." I snarl, anger and irritation flooding through me. "After all that's happened, you think _that's_ what's important right now? No way."

"Well, I know you cared about her a lot.." He rubs my shoulder awkwardly and I twitch away uncomfortably, my skin prickling. I've never been too fond of physical contact.. I dunno, it's just that ever since I lost my mother and brother all those years ago, I've been wary of getting close to anyone, lest they're gonna be taken away from me again. Even if they did mean a lot to me.

I'd never admit it to the guy next to me, but Effie was one of those select few people whose company I appreciated more than anyone else's.

And these past two years away from her have been nothing short of utter hell.

My eyes flick up to Plutarch's and for a second, this look crosses his face. It takes me a second to realise that it's resentment that I see, but not towards me like I'd naturally assume, especially seeing as when I was drying out, my temper had a tendency to manifest itself whenever I laid eyes on him. After having to endure two weeks of that sort of treatment, even I can see why he'd hate me.

No, it's not me; It's what happened that he resents. Which is weird in itself. He got what he wanted. He got the Girl on Fire from the arena, just like he'd promised.

"Haymitch, I.. I'm sorry you two got split up." He says softly, and he must see my shock, because he looks out the window and refuses to look at me again.

I shake my head and pay attention to the ugly blocks of flats we've been driving past for about two hours. Before the awkward silence becomes too intense, the car stops and the driver tells us that we're here.

Taking a deep breath of air and not bothering to look back, I open door and get out, making my way towards the place where I hope to find my Effie safe and well.


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N: OMG this broke me, especially writing the end. Anyway, I promise things will pick up a hell of a lot more in later chapters. Please let me know what you think, and I'll see you all next week :) xx_**

 _Haymitch's POV_

 _I'm so close to seeing her for the first time in two years, but even now I'm not sure if she'll want to see me. I don't want to hurt her, yet I so badly need to see that she's okay at the very least._

 _It's obscene, really. Here I am contemplating having feelings for the woman when she quite probably hates my guts. Anyone would. And there is no way I can like Trinket, let alone love her. But then again, how would I know what love feels like? I haven't felt it properly for over twenty years._

"Didn't you forget something?" Plutarch's voice is suddenly in my ear, making me jump. I twist around and glare at him.

"I know _you_ did. Don't try sneaking up on me like that, unless you want another fist in your face." I bite back, twitching away from him irritatedly.

Completely ignoring that, he holds out a small skin coloured box attached to what looks like a plastic ring. I smirk, despite myself. "You trying to say something, Heavensbee?"

He sighs, his eyes closing for a second as he tells himself to keep calm. I should know, I've seen him do that many times just lately. I roll my eyes at this. Here we are with Effie's wellbeing at stake, and he's doing fucking _breathing exercises_ so he doesn't blow a fuse. I find myself losing my temper quickly.

"Plutarch, for fuck's-"

"Grow up, Haymitch."

"And he's back. There I was thinking I'd pushed you over the edge for good." I snap, taking the little sensor pad and sliding it onto my thumb, ignoring the weird tickling sensation of the cold plastic on my warm skin.

"You'd try the patience of a saint, Haymitch. Here." He glances at me briefly, then hands me my microphone and earpiece, which I glare at but grudgingly take.

Honestly I don't know why he's bothering. I hate having him talking away in my ear, telling me how to pick a lock, or not to stab anyone. Don't do this, don't do that. I'm not a dumb little kid. Believe it or not, I do actually have the capacity to make the right decisions. Unfortunately, my perception of right doesn't always match that of those around me.

And I'd expressed my hatred for the earpiece quite early on, in a lot more colourful language, but had anyone listened?

Had they balls.

So last time, I'd taken the useless piece of plastic out of my ear and left it on the ground, 'accidentally' crushing it with my boot. Maybe that should've been an implicit message:Don't make me wear bloody earpieces.

But no. And here we are again.

"Christ," I mutter as I attach the microphone to the underside of my shirt collar, "I'm only going into some shitty block of flats, it's not the bloody CIA."

"Yes, but nobody here is trusting you with a gun." He doesn't even smile at his own joke.

I grunt and turn away, my arms shaking a little as they fall by my sides. While he's silent, I take the time to stare up at the sizeable mess of concrete and dirty windows, the majority of them smashed and boarded over. I could never, ever imagine Effie even looking at a place like this, let alone spending her life and building a future here.

It's cold here too and the walls don't look thick, so the winters must be brutal. An image of Effie curled up on the sofa by the fireplace in my house _that year_ springs to mind. I smile sadly.

She'd turned up on my doorstep in the middle of a particularly violent mid winter thunderstorm, complete with relentless sheets of rain pouring down on whoever was unlucky enough to still be outside at that time of night. Which is exactly where she was, having just stepped off the train. Soaking wet and chilled to the bone, I took her in and gave her a towel, while she discovered that all her clothes in her little suitcase were soaked too. I remember leading her to my bathroom, then taking her wet clothes off her as she showered, then lending her a pair of thick flannel pyjamas I'd had for years when she was warm and dry again. We then sat and talked about so many things and as time went by, her eyes focused more on the dancing flames in the fireplace. Silence fell on us both, and I remember just being content with running my fingers gently through her almost dry blonde hair. It felt so soft and smooth even without a brush and soon I felt the weight of her small frame pressed into my side as she slept.

What struck me then was how damn peaceful she looked in sleep and how much she trusted me. Perhaps if I'd have admitted that I loved her then, things could've been different. Me and Effie would have a chance at a life together, and we could spend all of our evenings cuddled up like we were on that night in the middle of a storm, all those years ago.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Effie's POV**_

 _I blink up at Dean, his brown eyes softening as they latch onto mine. Sure, he's not Haymitch, but I'm led to believe he really does care about me. I don't know, but maybe I do._

 _People talk about mixed feelings like it's an exception, but for me it's the norm. I'm scared to try and scared not to - what I actually do depends on the balance between the two. There are days I feel so drained from trying to be more assertive that I fail in crucial moments to put my needs forward._

 _I've always had confidence issues, but now it seems to run much deeper than that. I can't talk to anyone like I used to. I walk back alleys just to avoid running into someone I know._

 _Am I ashamed of myself? Or am I just unable to accept that someone cares? Who knows. All I'm sure of is that if I can't have Haymitch, Dean could be a viable option._

Dean watches me closely as I perch on the edge of his worn leather sofa. I meet his gaze while he hands my booze over, but there's something in those brown eyes that I can't place, and whatever it is, it makes me feel really uncomfortable. Ignoring it for the time being, I busy myself with shoving the bottles into my pack, counting them as I do my best to put them in some kind of order. I frown. _Hang on..._ There are nine bottles here. He only ever gets me six, sometimes seven if he's feeling generous.

I know for a fact that he only gets me more if he wants something. Suddenly, I realise I have good reason to be so on edge.

"You know I nicked you more this time round.." He starts, sitting close enough to make my insides crawl.

I swallow, my insides twisting sickeningly. "I am aware. And I appreciate it very much." My hands ball into fists and my jaw clenches a little. I try and smile at him, but he clearly mistakes my attempt at friendship for something else because he moves closer still, his hand finding mine.

Knowing I have to remain on his side, I don't pull away like my brain's screaming at me to do. He must sense my resistance, though, because his grip tightens on me and I know it will get harder for me to run away the longer I let him near me.

Tears spring to my eyes. Why can't I just have normal friends like I used to? The kind that when I needed them, or wanted them around they were always right there.. And how come every low life I've met in this bloody hell hole has some motive for gaining my friendship?

 _It's not fair._

I mean, I get that trusting a criminal was always gonna be like walking on eggshells, but I never expected him to use me for his own pleasure. Granted, it's only happened eight times, but I never want it and his intolerance to me begging him to stop took its toll. And by that I mean with each incidence, he made it more painful than the last. So I shut up and I don't give him the satisfaction of my pain.

And Jesus Christ, does it hurt. Not physically, at least not much. I've learned to tune that out. No, it's what goes on in my head after it that bothers me most.

Maybe that's what's made me so wary of people coming close to me and my refusal to let others in too close. I'm scared I'll find another Dean.

Have I done something wrong? I wonder silently as he pushes me back into the sofa and holds me down. Is this some kind of sick repayment for all the kids I sent to their deaths as an Escort? All the families' lives I ruined by saying a child's name..

"I'm sorry.." I whisper to no one, while Dean takes me to his room to once again strip me of my dignity.

 _ **Haymitch's POV**_

Getting shot of Plutarch brings me the realisation of exactly one crucial piece of information: I don't have a bloody clue where Effie lives, except that it's somewhere in this concrete shitheap in front of me. Then again, I'm honestly not sure if he knew her exact address either. He probably didn't. It's kinda hard to tell someone's location from the handful of tracker signals we got before she managed to cut it out. And I still haven't quite figured out how she did that without cutting through an artery.

Still, she often makes a habit out of doing things people tell her she can't do, surviving a month's worth of around the clock torture being one of them.

"Hey, who are you?" I almost jump at the sound of a male voice off to my right. Turning a little, I come face to face with I guy that appears to be in his late thirties. His eyes widen in recognition as he glares distrustfully at me. "Actually, don't bother answering. What would a Victor want in somewhere like this?"

My fists clenching a little, I look him in the eyes and scowl. Another reason why I can't see Effie living here: The people are ruder than I am, and to be honest, that's quite an achievement.

"I'm looking for someone. Euphemia Trinket?" I try, not sure how he'll react.

"Oh. You mean Mia. Mia Trinket, she lives up on the second floor. Number twelve. But if I were you, I wouldn't go near her. She's Dean's girl." He looks at me reproachfully, and instantly I'm perplexed by this mysterious Dean.

"What, so they're together?" I'm afraid to know the answer yet far too curious to let it go.

But to my immense surprise (and intense relief) he laughs. "Oh, hell no. No such thing over here. But put it like this: If you're thinking of getting a cheap thrill outta her, you'll wake up in the morning with your dick in your mouth and your hands nailed to the wall in front of you. Victor or not." A wry smile works its way onto his face and he looks at me sadly. "She's not with him by choice. She was too stupid to find anyone else and he's a manipulator. She just didn't notice in time and now, she's stuck with him until one of them dies."

"That's optimistic." I find myself smiling, but there's no humour in it. Truth be told, I'm more worried about Effie than I was before.

The man shrugs. "Yeah, I know. Unless you're here to play the hero. Then I respect you a lot. She ain't meant to be in a place like this, she belongs with someone who can protect her, not with _him._ And if anyone asks who told you where to find her, you don't know me. Got it?" His blue eyes burn bright as they latch onto mine, and I nod. Instantly he relaxes and knocks my arm. "Thanks. Good luck getting your girl back, Abernathy."

And with one final glance at me, he turns on his heel and pads off into the night, leaving me feeling more worried about my girl than ever.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Oh God, I'm so sorry for the late update! But now I'm going back to updating on Tuesdays only (she says). Still until next week, peace xx**_

 **Effie's POV**

 _Just before you left, you gave me your bracelet, along with the velvet lined box it came in, treating it like I'm a lucky girl to have such an important possession. But I see past the intricate white gold flames, and I know you thought you wouldn't be coming back to collect it off me again..._

 _I remember holding the bracelet, while looking at you. The cold smoothness of the metal and the heaviness of it in my palm. People looked at me with something like envy when I wore it for the first time, but I don't want their attention. I don't want the bracelet, to me it's just metal. I want you. I want you back here, not on the other side of the damn country.._

 _Where did it all go wrong..?_

The bed is hard and uncomfortable underneath my bare, throbbing body and I shift a little, the thin sheet scratching my patchy red skin raw. I'm done crying, but I can still feel the remnants of tears slowly drying on my cheeks. I think I'm bleeding in a few places, and I don't even need to touch my neck to know that's a mess of bruises.

So aside from being a little chewed up, I'm okay, I suppose.

Grunting softly, I push myself up and spend a few minutes breathing, my eyes on the threadbare rug below my feet, but I don't really see the way the once fluffy material slowly breaks down until it's just the rough mat below. My mind is too far away to notice how shitty Dean's house is compared to my own place back when I had somewhere I could call home.

I find myself idly twisting Haymitch's gold bracelet around my wrist, and I stop instantly. It's weird: When I first wore the thing, it was several sizes too big for me. And that's when I decided to wear it just below my elbow, the only place where it would fit comfortably without getting in the way of my clothes.

Because while the bracelet was hardly a replacement for him, it was the only thing I had left to remember him by and for that reason alone I decided to hang onto this bracelet like it was Haymitch himself.

Hours later, I'm sat cross legged on questionably clean Dean's sofa, while staring out of an equally dirty window.

And the view outside isn't much better. A bunch of overturned wheelie bins lying on the slabs below, their contents spilling out onto the stained concrete.

The heavy tread of boots brings my attention back to the front door and I instantly tense, that sound immediately sparking fear inside me, and suddenly I'm back in my prison cell underground. My heart pounds and I whine into the silence, every fibre of my being tensed for an attack that I know will come. There's a man with a gun behind me, and all I have to do is wait for the bullet.

It's coming, I know it. It's coming...

I tear myself out of the flashback with a yelp, but it doesn't help. Now I'm so spooked I'm half expecting Dean and more corrupt Peacekeepers to come and attack me.

The seconds tick by and somehow, I get my breathing to slow. I'm on my feet but I have no clue how I got there, or any recollection of even getting up.

I tremble, then glance towards the door and what I see stood there is enough to knock all the breath from my body and leave me standing there, feeling like I might either vomit or pass out completely. Managing to get some air into my crushed lungs, I let out a small shriek which quickly turns into a full blown scream and the man at the other end of the room dart towards me.

I taste skin as his hand clamps over my mouth, effectively cutting off the noise as he holds my body firmly against his. I'm too weak to do more than wriggle in an indignant protest, but his grip tightens and I can't move. Sensing this power he has over me, Haymitch smirks in exactly the way I remember and leans to whisper in my ear "Quit the noise, Princess. Your shrill little voice is giving me a worse headache than all of my old hangovers combined."

Glaring as fiercely as I can at him given my current situation, I move my face away and snarl back "Fuck you, Abernathy."

Unsurprisingly, he tuts at me. "You really need to work on your greetings, Effie."

I laugh harshly and watch his face. "You really need to work on staying the fuck outta other people's business."

Instead of pushing me away like I want him to, he hugs me awkwardly, his ashy blonde hair brushing my cheekbone. Now I have to really fight the instinct to pull him closer.

"Such shocking manners Miss Trinket. I really would've expected better from you."

I scowl into his shoulder. "You can take your expectations and shove them right up your-"

"Effie, do us all a favour and shut the fuck up before I shove my hand in over your mouth again." He sighs, and I feel a small urge to irritate him further.

Freeing my hands, I dig them into his sides and tickle him, laughing as he squirms away from me and shoots me a cross look from under his hair. After a few seconds I relent, then wrap my arms around him from behind and hug him. "Aww, I'm sorry, Mitch."

I feel him flinch at the name and he grunts. "You will be."

Rolling my eyes fondly, I squeeze him a little. "I guess we're even now, huh?" I whisper into his back, and he turns to face me, cupping my small cheek in his rough palm.

Looking deep into his eyes, I find the same comfort and warmth in the dark grey that no one else sees. And that's the part of Haymitch I love the most. The tender, caring side to him that he tries so hard to hide from everyone else, including those who care about him. Until I came along and figured him out.

And he loves me for it.

"Not quite even. I'm sure you're gonna wanna yell at me later on, yeah? But I got something I need to do, first." He says softly. And there he does it again; he surprises me just like he has done in the past. It's a typical Haymitchy thing, and he does it to catch you off guard. Which is what this certainly does. Just when I think I know what he's gonna do next as he holds me close to his warm muscly body, he leans in and presses his lips to mine.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: OMG I am sorry I missed upload last week, I had a load of college shit to sort out. But now I am back and ready to cause Hayffie feels 3:) Anyway, hope you enjoy! xo_

 _ **Haymitch's POV**_

 _I keep falling in love with you and each time is harder than the last. Every time the feeling gets deeper, more complete, more bewitching. And every time it hurts more than I ever thought possible. I shouldn't love you, it was your people who tore my life and my family apart...But I can't help staring at your pretty little face, and I will even go to the extent of making shitty jokes in order to hear your laugh, because when you laugh, a little bit of light shines through the darkness of my life; A light that only you can give to me._

 _I hate and despise you. You are a product of everything I hate most about the world, and I will do absolutely anything to keep you always safe. I'd devote myself to you. I'd give my life to you. Because in the end, you are all that matters to me now._

 _My Effie, my sweet Effie._

I carry on kissing her until the need for air causes us both to break away, flushed and slightly breathless as we stare at each other. Not knowing what else to do, (and anyway, what the fuck can you say after random kissing sessions?) I smirk, pushing a stand of my dark hair out of my eyes. "So, uh.. I guess-"

"Why are you here?" She cuts me off and I close my mouth for a bit as I study her face, trying to work out her game here. So one minute we're lovers, the next we're... What, acquaintances? She carries on watching my face expectantly, her eyes more serious and honestly, that look would fool anyone into thinking we were two friends having a normal conversation.

"I.." I start, but can't come up with a proper answer.

"Yes?" She purses her lips and narrows her eyes, and I'm taken straight back to when she tried to make me sober up, but I'd had other ideas and had gone to the bar with Chaff. And me being me, I had to pretend to be sober.

Her being her, she'd seen right through it before I'd started talking.

And not that I'd admit it to her, but I hate seeing her disappointed look. Her anger always used to make me smile, especially seeing as she tried to make herself sound more threatening but failed miserably half the time. No, it was that sad look in her eye, and the way she sighed "Haymitch..." in that special tone of voice that always got me apologising profusely, even if it was something insignificant.

I hang my head and scuff at the floor with my boot, wishing she'd have asked anything but that.

"Haymitch, you can tell me." I'm not looking at her, but I can feel her eyes on me. Searching for some sort of answer. She mustn't find anything useful, because I suddenly feel her warmth and her hands cupping both my cheeks. I lift my head and meet her gaze, while she strokes the soft skin around my jaw with her dainty thumbs. "I won't bite.." She whispers this time, and now there's a hint of a smile on her face.

I feel safer, and admittedly, no one can make me feel so threatened but so damn secure at the same time. "I.. I missed you. And I need you safe. With.. With me." I get out, even though my mouth feels like sandpaper and my tongue feels like a block of concrete sticking to the walls of my cheeks.

She blinks and lets go and for one sick second, I think she'll laugh and push me out of the flat, but instead she just eyes me, then hugs me.

"I've missed you too, Haymitch, but it's really not safe for you here, and I can't leave. I've got nowhere to go.."

"Yeah, you have. You can come to my place. I'd be glad for the company, if I'm honest." I reassure her, holding her soft form to my own. I hear her sigh and I've known her long enough to notice that that sound was relief.

"Thank you. Oh, Haymitch, thank you." She mumbles into my shirt and I find myself smiling, even though I can tell already she's got some kind of drinking problem that I'll have to deal with. I'm not complaining, it's just she comes out of this worse off, what with the withdrawal, the hallucinations, the nausea, the fits.. But I know that if I could take it for her, I would. That thought scares me a little. I barely know her now, and I'm willing to do almost anything for her..

I shake myself and smile. "Want a drink, sweetheart?"

Seemingly gathering what remains of her composure, she pulls back from me and nods. "Coffee would be brilliant, thank you."

I grin reassuringly and pad from the room to the dingy little kitchen, my nose wrinkling a little at the state of the place. There's dirty dishes piled up by the sink, the oven is covered in grease and grime, and worst of all, the whole place gives off an eye watering stench of mould and decay that would send even the bravest of cleaners running home.

Shuddering a little, I fill the kettle and set it to boil, while I manage to find a clean mug and a jar of coffee granules.

A soft Effie squeak from the living room reaches my ears, and I'm suddenly swamped with a feeling of impending danger. "Effie?" I call, my own voice sounding a little strained to my ears.

"Yes?" Comes her prompt response, and I know for sure something's not right. Her voice is shaking and she sounds a little _too_ happy for it to be genuine.

Blood pounding through my body and every muscle tensed and ready for attack, I silently move back to the living room, thankful for once for the threadbare carpet muffling my soft footfalls. I hear her squeak again and it's more urgent. Something about it sends shivers down my spine and oh my God, why the fuck didn't we go up to her place while we had the chance?

A fist clamped around the handle of my knife, I peer round the corner and what I see makes my blood run cold.

A man in what I presume to be his late thirties is holding Effie to him, his dark eyes on Effie as he whispers something to her. I don't even have to ask this man's name. I already know it's Dean, the one who claimed Effie as his toy when his girlfriend was away, and presumably the main source of Effie's booze.

 _Oh, shit._

I bite my lip, wondering what the hell I do, when I see Effie's face contort a little. _He's hurting her._ I think, a flare of white hot anger shooting through me as I watch them both.

"Let her go!" My voice echoes around the room before I'm aware I've even spoken, and my legs are moving me right into the view of his cold, dead eyes.

The man grins. "Ah, Haymitch Abernathy. Famous District drunkard. You know, I was wondering how long it'd take you to come back for this pretty little thing." His voice makes my lip curl and all I want to do is knock his teeth down his throat for touching my girl.

"Sober, actually. And proud of it." I growl, ready to throw my knife right through his skull. "You got five seconds to let her go, before your blood ends up giving this shitty flat an impromptu paint job."

Instead of backing off like any sane person would do, he bares his yellow teeth at me in a feral, almost insane grin. "That's not going to happen. You see, I'm the one who could snap your girlfriend's neck in seconds and it would mean nothing to me. And no one else would care but you. So, I think I have a little bit more time than five seconds, don't you?" His speech is slow and deliberate, like he's thinking carefully about every word as he says it. Frankly, that just annoys me more.

I'm just about to open my mouth again with a snide remark, when he draws something out of his pocket and holds it to Effie, and the words die in my throat.

He's got a gun.

And he's aiming right at my Effie's head.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: Again, I'm really sorry for skipping a week and I am trying not to make this a regular thing :| Anyway, hope you enjoy! xox**_

Haymitch's POV

 _I can't breathe. Every fibre of me, every nerve ending is firing up, my brain screaming at me to do something. Anything. But I'm rooted to the spot, too busy staring at the weapon pressed to Effie's forehead. I know once false move and she's dead. One wrong word, and before I know it, everything I've spent the last two years worrying about is gonna be lying in front of me, blue eyes fixed on mine in a cold, dead stare._

"Haymitch, what's happening?" Plutarch's terse voice sounds in my ear, and that brings me back to my senses. I can't easily answer him, but the slight shift in Dean's expression tells me that he knows that the man in my ear is listening to every word. I swallow.

"I presume whoever's in your ear wants to know what's going on?" Dean glares at me, but his voice is bitterly sweet and I feel a chill run through me. He comes closer, the gun still trained on Effie, and murmurs in my ear, "They're both gonna die, that's what.."

I shut my eyes and breathe through my nose, finding Effie's hand and giving it a quick squeeze before turning back to the task at hand. My head spins and I try to think , how would you deal with me holding someone hostage?

Easy. Be a submissive.

I mean, come on. If you're gonna die, at least do it with some kind of fight. It's like if you get stabbed, your first instinct is to try and slow the blood loss and get help. Not just lie on the ground and wait as the life ebbs out of you. I know for a fact that I wouldn't shoot the submissive. So he probably won't either.

"Shoot me then." I glare at him hatefully, my hands balling into fists. Hopefully if I can make him think he's doing me a favour by killing me, I can hopefully prolong Effie's life while Plutarch gets some sort of aid to us.

Dean looks a little confused by that, and I almost laugh out of spite. "C'mon. Kill me like you said. I got nothing to live for anyway." I give an impassive shrug and look at the ground, shifting a bit in what I hope to be a gesture of either nerves or sadness.

"Haymitch, what the fuck are you doing?" Effie's voice cuts through the silence, a slight hint of hysteria working into the increased pitch of her speech. I daren't look her in the eye; I will not show weakness. I am strong.

"Shut up, Effie. "I growl coldly, all my attention focused on Dean's eyes. Slipping the hand with my sensor on it behind my back, I quickly tap out "Effie hostage. Be quick" being careful not to make any sudden movements.

Watching his face carefully, I see that maybe this guy is a little deeper than just being a small scale criminal and a grade-A asshole. Underneath the surface, I realise there's a hell of a lot of anger going on through his head and maybe I can relate to this man more than I think.

Effie's POV

I glare angrily at him in order to mask the pain I feel in my heart. I know he's got a plan, but him talking about dying like that just causes a dead weight to settle in my chest. I cannot lose this man, even if he does play with death so readily.

"I'm waiting." Haymitch says again and honestly, it sounds like he couldn't care less whether he lives or dies. As always, it's really hard to know for sure with him but if only he knew..

"Mitch, please stop it.." The alien whimpering noise coming from my throat doesn't even sound human and I only know it's my voice from the sheer emotion that cuts off any further speech. Not that I'd be able to express it, for immediately after I speak, Dean's hand clamps over my mouth and he hisses "How many times? Shut up you stupid bitch!"

I let out a sob, my body shaking. Haymitch won't look at me, and without seeing the slight comfort in his eyes, all I have to focus on is the cold metal of the gun's barrel pressing into my temples. My breathing's too fast; my pulse thundering against his wrist on my neck.

 _I'm gonna pass out..._

I whine, Haymitch's face swimming in and out of focus as I try to hang on to consciousness. I hope whatever help Haymitch summoned comes quick, for I will be of precisely zero use to anyone passed out.

"Are you gonna shoot me or-" Haymitch starts, foolishly taking a step towards Dean. I instantly feel him tense while I get the strange feeling that we're not alone in this room anymore. I swallow and breathe, my eyes shutting while Dean shrieks "SHUT UP!"

Now he really does sound insane, but I am in no state or position to say that, especially as I'm the one who could easily end up with my brains splattering the walls if I say something to aggravate him.

Eyes still shut, I hear the gun cocking and everything stops. All of a sudden I can't hear, or breathe. Haymitch is moving towards me, but I know what's gonna happen. I glance at him one last time, my face twisting into what I hope to be an apologetic expression, before tensing and waiting for the shot to come.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Effie's POV**_

 _The shot echoes through the air and I tense up, waiting for... Well, I guess I'm waiting for death but I'm not sure what I'd feel when I am dead. Maybe everything would just freeze an I'd quit feeling so tensed up and scared. I'd like to think that I'd be able to catch a glimpse of Haymitch one last time before I collapse in front of him. But that hasn't happened yet.. The ache in my legs is still there and I'm still shaking. I can't feel Dean beside me, but there's something pressing into my ankle_...

Opening my heavy eyelids slowly, I glance down and feel a beat of nausea shoot up my throat. The edge of Dean's shoe is pressing into my ankle his legs at an unnatural angle compared to the rest of his body, which is lying face down on the grubby carpet. His head, or rather, the remains of it, is turned and I can see one of his glazed eyes glaring at the wall, while his blood is slowly spreading in a pool around the scary looking holes in the back of his head. Not daring to breathe, I stare at the body, the shaking working its way through my entire body until I'm dithering helplessly. Time's frozen as my legs give way and I collapse beside the body of the sole source of two years' worth of misery. I want to hate, I want to hurt him more but I can't move and now that I'm closer I can see the cracked bits of skull around where the bullets entered him, making the nausea worse.

Turning my head to one side, I retch, vomiting up the contents of my stomach. It's strange; now that I'm away from the blood I feel infinitely better. I want to cry but I don't want to mourn this man. I want to feel something but all I am is numb.

I don't want to know who killed him, but I get my answer regardless as I hear heavy boots behind me, probably climbing through a window. As my eyes flick up once I'm done throwing up, I catch sight of Haymitch thanking the guy who shot Dean. I scowl.

Taking advantage of the fact that neither man is looking at me, I take the guy's pistol and stand up on shaky legs.

Haymitch seems to sense the movement and turns to me, his eyes widening when he sees the gun. "Effs, what the fuck are you doing?" For the first time tonight, there's an edge of fear to his voice and I find myself smiling sadistically.

"Miss, put that down." Haymitch's friend comes closer and I point the gun right at his face.

"Get away." I snarl but he continues to move towards me. Panicking a bit, I drive my elbow into his nose. There's a loud crack of bones snapping, a yelp, then a thud as he falls back into the opposite wall and knocks himself out. I nod and smirk to myself, then turn to Dean's body, feeling incredibly powerful with the deadly weapon in my fist. My finger squeezes the trigger and I shoot the body over again, anger replacing the sickness of seeing him with his brains spraying the carpet. I shoot repeatedly and I know if I was in my right mind, I might've stopped to consider what good shooting a dead person would do.

I don't want to think about that shit now, even with Haymitch trying to get close to me, possibly to wrestle the gun off me.

I'm barely aware of Haymitch shouting at me, though that's fucking pointless as far as I'm concerned. I don't have to listen to him and he knows that, because he gives up, just in time to find the man standing up from where I'd slammed him into the wall. I want to scream, to cry out. I want to hurt someone from all the hurt I've endured, but there's no one in the room who I want to pick fights with, seeing as they're both far stronger than me. That becomes quite evident when they both grab me and the gun before I collapse for the second time in less than an hour, tears running down my cheeks.

"Let go.. Let me go.." I mumble, but I might as well be talking in a different language for all the good it does for me. Dimly aware that I'm moving, I tilt my head up to see them carrying me in the direction of the door. I struggle weakly until one of them dumps me on the ground and presses something damp and foul-smelling over my mouth and nose. Thrashing more, I whine, scratching at the hand holding the cloth in place. I'm weakening fast; it must be some kind of chloroform-type drug to keep me quiet. I know resistance is futile, so I press my back into the concrete of the corridor, and let the drug lull me to a troubled sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Haymitch's POV**_

 _ **A/N:**_ _ **Jesus, it feels good to be writing again. College is a bitch! Still, I should be doing this every week, if not every fortnight. Sorry for the delay in this one. Until next time xox**_

As I watch the light leaving her eyes, I question for the first time tonight whether I am right in doing this. In taking her away from everything she's spent time and effort building up. Granted, she's not had a good life here, but what would I know? I look at her guiltily. I'm probably imagining things, but even to me, she seems distant.

...Should I have left her?

Would I have dragged her onto the hovercraft with me, regardless of her protests? Should I have fought the Peacekeepers who took her off, maybe shot them with their own guns to get my girl back? I still hear her scream as she was dragged away. That desperate sound has haunted me for countless nights alone, when the booze was my only companion. I saw her eyes. _The panic, the fear._

I look away.

With hindsight, I know the answer is that given the chance, I'd take a bullet for her, but my failed good intentions mean less than nothing to her now that she's lying on the ground in front of me.

Focusing instead on the slow rise and fall of her chest, I'm struck by how I used to find her asleep in her chair in the suite, often with a book or a pile of papers in her hands. Things were better for her then. At least she woke up with a book in her hand rather than a bottle.

"She's a psycho." Plutarch looks at me and I jump, not even aware he was near me. His eyes meet mine, then slide back to her in the time it takes me to process what he just said.

"Yeah," My voice is dry and gravelly, so I swallow the lump in my throat and nod, "But she's my psycho." I glance back at her and pick her up, feeling many different bones poking at my arms as I do so.

"As touching as that is, I can't help but wonder how you're gonna react to having an alcoholic in your house again when you've only just recovered yourself."

I shift a bit and almost snarl back, "I'll manage."

"You'd better," He carries on matter-of-factly, "Because if you don't, Katniss and Peeta will tell me, then I'll have her put in a proper rehab centre over in District Four."

"You can't do that." I interject, my eyes latching on his.

"Let that be the incentive to stay sober."

"Blackmail. I can get you arrested for that shit." I growl, my hands curling into fists at the thought of Plutarch asking Kat and Peeta to spy on mine and Effie's personal life for my benefit.

"You do that. Mitch." He says, an unmistakable edge to his voice as he goes back to the car, leaving me feeling incredibly sick to the stomach at the thought of spending more than five minutes near the man.

 _ **Effie's POV**_

 _Rumbling. A slight rocking motion. My head is killing me... I have no idea where I am and I can't even gather the strength to open my eyes and find out if I'm alone._

 _Help.._

My tongue darts out to moisten my lips, before I open my mouth, fully intending to scream the holy hell out of this place. However, I fail before I can even begin, as whenever I try to even whine my vocal cords feel like they're cemented together. I twitch my head in frustration, a small groan working its way up my throat as I move my neck. The pain makes me flinch, and I wonder vaguely how long I've been lying in this position.

Forcing my eyes open, I see that I am in a small room similar to that of my Capitol cell. Bile rising in my throat, I sob and curl up, feeling the anxiety build up in my chest.

"Princess?" I hear a voice murmur and heat rushes to my cheeks.

"Hay.. Mitch? That you?" I croak, turning my head and coming face to face with him. He smiles and strokes my hair gently. "Yeah. Who else would I be, huh?"

"Thank God you're here.." I nuzzle into his neck, finding his pulse thundering against my cheek somewhat grounding. He smells of lemongrass and something I can't place, but what I can sort of describe as outdoorsy. Of woods and trees and freshly cut grass. "Where are we?" I murmur, glad that I don't need to strain my voice as much.

I feel him shift a bit, then his warm hand on my back. "We're in a hovercraft. We're.. We're going to Twelve." He sounds terse and anxious, so I pull back and look him in the eye, concern welling up and smothering the nausea in my stomach. "Haymitch. What's wrong?" I frown. He looks scared, and that alone is enough to create unease. Nothing scares him unless it's very serious or someone's life is in danger. But that doesn't make sense. Surely we've left whatever possible dangers behind us?

He shakes his head, the distracted look in his smoky grey eyes disappearing for a moment. "Nothin'. Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Sweetheart."

Too tired and weak to push him about it, I let it go for now and press my face into his neck, the bright overhead lights too much for my throbbing head. "Okay. I'm definitely not pretty though. You're going blind in your old age." That at least gets a little laugh out of him as his calloused hand ghosts the back of my neck, tracing idly over the bones at the top of my spine. I smile a bit into his skin, tilting my face just enough to press a lazy kiss to the edge of his jaw. He twists a bit, tugging me back a bit. I see the invitation clear as day in his eyes, so I lean in and capture his lips with my own in a featherlight kiss.

He responds instantly, his lips warm and surprisingly soft against mine. One of my hands cups his jaw, fingers ghosting against the faint hint of stubble I find there while the other wraps around his ribs, allowing me to close the gap between us and pull him closer. We stay like that for a while, trading slow, passionate kisses as we hold each other.

I've missed this so much. I've missed his laugh, his smile, the way he holds me close. I've missed being his.

And damn, it feels so good to be back in his arms once more.

 _ **Haymitch's POV**_

 _Is it normal to resent yourself so much? I dunno... It's just sometimes I can't help but wonder what would've happened if Effie had stopped Escorting like she threatened to do all those years ago. I mean, obviously I'd miss her, but... Crazy thing is, I almost wanted her to leave at the time because I never wanted her hurt. I never asked for this!_

Hell, I went to such fucking lengths to keep us safe, keep her safe, and she still got caught up in the war. For many weeks, I thought she was dead and I think those were the worse weeks of my life. To imagine a life without Effie is sort of like imagining a day with no sun; dark, cold and uninhabitable. Plutarch considered putting me in shared accommodation so there was someone to see to it that I wouldn't kill myself.

I must own that I wanted to. Oh, God, did I want to. But something kept me alive. And I'm glad it did, for two weeks later I found out that Effie was alive and had been this whole time. I couldn't even attempt to describe it now, but everything had colour again (I'm perfectly aware that almost everything was grey in Thirteen) and I don't mean the physical kind. I mean I could feel things so vividly, it was like spending weeks blind, then suddenly being able to see again. Or being kept in the dark, then flourishing in the sunlight.

Whatever. I think it was pretty obvious from my intense relief that I cared about Effie, though how Plutarch found out about her nickname for me is a mystery. Was he deliberately sneaking about in our lives?

If that's the case, I'm right to be nervous. Nothing good can come of a government official scrutinising your every move.


End file.
